Well, then I go my way, and take my fee, And pay my bills. The Burtons have the land, And turn a cow upon it. See how nice A playground it would be. I've seen ten sets Of children try to play there--hey! you hear, The caretaker come out, get off of there! And then the children scamper, climb the fence. Well, after while the Burtons die. The will Leaves these five acres to their sons for life, Remainder to the children of the sons. The sons are living yet at middle life, These acres have been tied up twenty years, They may be tied up thirty years beside: The sons can't sell it, and their children can't, Only the cow can use it, as it stands. It grows more valuable as the people come here, And bring in being Elenor Murrays, children, And make the land around it populous. That's what makes poverty, this holding land, It makes the taxes harder on the poor, It makes work scarcer, and it takes your girls And boys and throws them into life half made, Half ready for the battle. Is a country Free where the laws permit such things? Your priests, Your addle-headed preachers mouthing Christ And morals, prohibition, laws to force People to be good, to save the girls, When every half-wit knows environment Takes natures, made unstable in these homes Of poverty and does the trick. That baronet Who mocked our freedom, sailing back for England And said: Your Liberty Statue in the harbor Is just a joke, that baronet is right, While such conditions thrive. Well, look at me Who for three hundred dollars take a part In making a cow pasture for a cow For fifty years or so. I hate myself. And were the Burtons better than this Kingston? Kingston would will away what was not his. The Burtons took what is the gift of God, As much as air, and fenced it out of use-- Save for the cow aforesaid--for the lives Of sons in being. Oh, I know you think I have a grudge. I have.